“Can you play on that?” asked Marjorie, with some difficulty, her cheeks being rather too hilly for conversation.

“Want to hear me?”

She nodded, her eyes sweet with anticipation.

This was what he had come for.  He threw back his head, lifted his eyes dreamily, as he had seen real musicians lift theirs, and distended the accordion preparing to produce the wonderful calf-like noise which was the instrument’s great charm.

But the distention evoked a long wail which was at once drowned in another one.

“Ow!  Owowaoh!  Wowohah!  WaowWOW!” shrieked Mitchy-Mitch and the accordion together.

Mitchy-Mitch, to emphasize his disapproval of the accordion, opening his mouth still wider, lost therefrom the jaw-breaker, which rolled in the dust.  Weeping, he stooped to retrieve it, and Marjorie, to prevent him, hastily set her foot upon it.  Penrod offered another jaw-breaker; but Mitchy-Mitch struck it from his hand, desiring the former, which had convinced him of its sweetness.

Marjorie moved inadvertently; whereupon Mitchy-Mitch pounced upon the remains of his jaw-breaker and restored them, with accretions, to his mouth.  His sister, uttering a cry of horror, sprang to the rescue, assisted by Penrod, whom she prevailed upon to hold Mitchy-Mitch’s mouth open while she excavated.  This operation being completed, and Penrod’s right thumb severely bitten, Mitchy-Mitch closed his eyes tightly, stamped, squealed, bellowed, wrung his hands, and then, unexpectedly, kicked Penrod again.

Penrod put a hand in his pocket and drew forth a copper two-cent piece, large, round, and fairly bright.

He gave it to Mitchy-Mitch.

Mitchy-Mitch immediately stopped crying and gazed upon his benefactor with the eyes of a dog.

This world!

Thereafter did Penrod—­with complete approval from Mitchy-Mitch—­play the accordion for his lady to his heart’s content, and hers.  Never had he so won upon her; never had she let him feel so close to her before.  They strolled up and down upon the sidewalk, eating, one thought between them, and soon she had learned to play the accordion almost as well as he.  So passed a happy hour, which the Good King Rene of Anjou would have envied them, while Mitchy-Mitch made friends with Duke, romped about his sister and her swain, and clung to the hand of the latter, at intervals, with fondest affection and trust.

The noon whistles failed to disturb this little Arcady; only the sound of Mrs. Jones’ voice for the third time summoning Marjorie and Mitchy-Mitch to lunch—­sent Penrod on his way.

“I could come back this afternoon, I guess,” he said, in parting.

“I’m not goin’ to be here.  I’m goin’ to Baby Rennsdale’s party.”

Penrod looked blank, as she intended he should.  Having thus satisfied herself, she added: 

“There aren’t goin’ to be any boys there.”